


Concealed Suns

by miss_lead



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Kitsune, M/M, Magic, Motorcycles, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_lead/pseuds/miss_lead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UPDATE 01/07/2017 - THIS WORK HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED<br/>AU: Wherein Japan is a Kitsune, not different from any of the other nations, yet... he is. And since forever he manages to hide it. What to do though, when someone ever so easily shreds every barrier he tries to keep.</p>
<p>  Thousands of years did not prepare him to face admition. </p>
<p>  Set in century XXI, tags might be added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concealed Suns

**Author's Note:**

> Evening everyone!
> 
> This is a subproduct of my eight-month study of Nogitsunes, after the season 3b of Teen Wolf, plus my recent infatuation with Hetalia. As the chapters progress, the Notes will be left on the end with useful, CRUCIAL INFO. Check it out for better understanding. For now, just cherish.
> 
> The progress of this will depend on the feedback received. A depressed me does not write. A supported me will. Criticism is fantastic and is throughly blessed by the Kami.
> 
> Have a good time.

_It was the first of A.D., and there was nothing else for a country to do rather than walk._

_History is written every day, and yet, some are written by allowing one day to carry on with nothing specific whatsoever important._

_It was one of these days. Days on which the chrysanthemums were not open at their fullest, the bamboo simply hissed at the wind, and the sky did not shine as much as the other days._

_On the small cabin behind, among the thin pillars and the conjoint with the roof, bamboo bells rang along the shuffling of the lanterns._

_Strangely enough, Yao could not hear a single robin, and the morning seemed as dull as the sounds offered on the cold day. There wasn't much to do that others wouldn't tend in his place, the fields had their everyday caretakers that fed his country and fed them well, workers that saw on the reeds everyday something new._

_Or perhaps they did not, and shared of their nation's numb boredom. He decided he would have to try a few years of agriculture in order to prove it out._

_Not now. It was a year of other practices. With his satchel clinking with wires, knives, ropes and cages, his steps were a deaf contrast to the sharp metal sound._

_He could be living on the palace with the Emperor, or at least somewhere close, but he had been there and decided it was not worth it. The year of that was gone. He was electric for a somewhat mature nation, there was yet so much to come._

_Therefore, he walked towards the first trap of the day, the product of such restlessness. His current hobby was traps._

_It was not hunting, not nearly as thrilling, yet it was challenging on its own. To design those traps and set them then leave each one for a period. There was a silent, calming and frustrating thrill from such type of hunting._

_Amusing really, if he stopped to think how he had left hunting larger beasts due to its instability to something more constant and calming such as traps for small beasts. This calmness was killing him now._

_Yet he could not bring himself to hate a single one of the choices he took._

_Climbing over mossgreen stone and bushes that brushed his pants to scratch, he wasn't too far from sweating with the given umity. The unsteady field harbouring this bamboo forest was weirdly mountainous and closed._

_If memory recalled well, this one was placed exactly on a rabbit road, were the short grass had bent from the constant passage of the hares that he had hoped to catch._

_And indeed, on the strategic spot the bamboo sticks he had bent to tense and hold open the wire were now straight and loose again._

_However, at the feet of the plants, caught on the trapwire, it was no hare._

_From some distance, he could mistake the white fur for a rabbit, but he could not mistake the size. Rabbit were not nearly as big or long furred as this fox._

_It was young; such things clear on the vividness of its fur and the size of its paws, too large for a full-grown animal. For a fox, there was still much for it to grow, but not enough for mistaking it with a hare._

_From where he stood, he could see the wire digging deep and tight on its feet, staining red on some spots the white fur._

_He could always try fox soup, he firstly thought. Foxes were tricky little pests, stealing away chicken and even eating the eggs on their wake, besides the yowling at the middle of the night._

_On second thought, he wasn't sure it was something he was willing to try out this very day. The trap was for hares, and no matter how useful, he had no need for fox pelts._

_The animal must have passed out tired, he guessed, its limp body curled on a ball. It was a lot of blood after all. There was no shame on letting the unwanted prey go, or perhaps letting dinner go and fatten itself for another day._

_He disarmed the trap and carefully touched the white fur, soft and still too new to be yellow from the sun and dirt. White, yet at the tip on the narrow nose, it greyed to black, like the black stockings and the tip of the tail and ears._

_The young fox was cold and passed out but still alive, its heart beating against his fingers. Not daring to take out the wire on the middle of the woods, he cut it from the majority of the trap and took the small beast on his arms._

_Yao guessed that if he planned dinning the beast on another opportunity he had to at least make sure it would survive another day._

_In truth, he pushed the thought of eating the pup away as he walked and ever so carefully climbed down the hills._

_Nearing his cabin, he never thought it could happen from his traps. He did not think he could end up getting a pup or, gods forbid, a cat accidentally. His traps were well thought on the weight they would be activated under and where he would be placing them._

_However, if he stopped to think, this fox did not weight far too much more than an exclusively fat and delicious hare, perhaps it had been hungry and went to the bait._

_But foxes do not eat vegetables._

_Yao sighed, stopping on his front door. The hare trail was not of only rabbits as he assumed. He did not think he would be setting traps back there without further investigation._

_He opened the door of the back of the cabin and while it was meant for skinning and cutting what he was able to catch, it had whatever was necessary for patching up the pup limp on his arms._

_Cleaning it up and with one of his razors, he shaved the fur from its ankle and proceeded to carefully cut and maneuver out of the beast's flesh the offending wire._

_It was cruelly sharp, beyond merely sharp; it was for hunting. Never had he minded bleeding dinner beforehand, and never had to patch a living animal afterwards. It gave him a lot to think about his traps._

_Cleaning up the best he could manage, he was not sure upon bandaging the creature since it would run away on the first opportunity._

_He shuddered lightly as he reached out for ropes and tied the fox to the table. Ever carefully, he lowered one of the lanterns and after drying the wound a fifth time, he proceed to galvanize the flesh together._

_The beast yelled. It was far too high pitched, shrieked and human-like to do anything less than make Yao's hands shake. The fur of the fox stood up and it trembled just as much as he did._

_"Shhh." At the point, he was assuring himself more than the sylvan animal. "Let's go again, aru?"_

_It was torture to do so all around the ankle, so he opted only for the worst, the underside of the paw._

_He lowered the burning roll of paper and set it off on a dish of sand. His breath was ragged, like the tired creature's. Nevertheless, his eyes, transfixed on the hurt leg, did not lie. It was all better, it would heal, it would all heal._

_He looked up to look into terrified eyes._

_It struck Wang right on the gut how deep those eyes stared at him. They were brownish and would be dull if not each discoloured inch was died a vibrant red in replacement of hazel. Resulting on intense red eyes, borderline unnatural like a spirit in disguise._

_"I'm sorry." He did not know here was something to apologise for beyond the obvious, yet looking at those eyes, Yao wanted to apologise to the world. "I'm sorry right, aru?"_

_He had never felt that bad for hunting something. Perhaps for he had never caught anything he did not plan eating. Yet, he ate about everything that walked._

_Slowly he ran his fingers through the soft, white fur, and has the breathing ceased from erratic to where exhaustion led, he wondered. He had the urge now to verify the other traps. Just as much as he had of double-checking where exactly they were placed._

_He left the door of his backdoor open, and within a bunch of furs he laid the fox over. He could not offer much more besides salted chicken rests and water, but was better than nothing._

_Looking at the young fox made him itchy. There was so much about his traps he hadn't thought off and he wanted to check. The creature fell into an easy sleep after so much pain, Yao was sure it would vanish as soon as it woke up._

_He could only expect it ate something before it fled. With a somewhat heavy heart and a crescent worry, he left into the woods again to check the other traps._

_It had been a day on which he expected nothing out of the world besides just another day of routine and boredom._

_He checked everything he had set on the woods, so many and for so long, that slowly but definitely the day rolled by and the sun creeped between the bamboo and cast the red lights through the forest._

_This falling and rising sunlight was the same colour of a certain white fox's eyes that he did not meet on his house when he returned, ever so hopeful._

_It was the colour he met on the eyes of a child; his burnt feet not touching the floor as he ate raw meat with his bare hands at his workshop, a white yukata around his tiny body._

_Fate crossed his way thankfully, as he met the rising sun._


End file.
